“Right you are,” nodded the old man.  “Now what do you suppose a waterfall like that can be used for, eh?”

“It might be used to run a mill,” said Ingmar thoughtfully.

The old man laughed to himself.  He patted Ingmar on the back, then gave him a dig in the ribs that almost sent him into the rapids.  “But who’s going to put up a mill here?  Who’s going to get rich, and who’s going to buy the Ingmar Farm, eh?” he chuckled.

“I’d just like to know,” said Ingmar.

Then the old man began unfolding a big plan he had in mind:  Ingmar was to persuade Tims Halvor to put up a sawmill below the rapids, and afterward lease it to him.  For many years the old man’s dream had been to find a way by which Big Ingmar’s son might come into his own again.  Ingmar stood quietly looking down at the foaming rapids.

“Come, let’s go back to the house and the dancing!” said the old man, but as Ingmar did not stir he waited patiently.  “If he’s the right sort, he won’t reply to this today, nor yet to-morrow,” he remarked to himself.  “An Ingmarsson has to have time to consider.”

And as they stood there, all at once they heard a sharp and angry bark that seemed to come from some dog running loose in the forest.

“Do you hear that, Ingmar?” asked the old man.

“Yes; that must be a dog on the rampage.”

Then they heard the bark more distinctly; it seemed to be coming nearer, as if the beast were heading straight for the hut.  The old man seized Ingmar by the wrist.  “Come, boy!” he said.  “Get into the house as quick as you can!”

“What’s the matter?” asked Ingmar, astonished.

“Get in, I tell you!”

As they made for the hut, the angry barking sounded as if it were quite close to them.

“What kind of dog is it?” Ingmar asked, again and again.

“Get inside, only get inside!” cried the old man, fairly pushing Ingmar into the narrow passageway.  Before closing the outer door he shouted:  “If there are any of you outside, come in at once!” As he stood holding the door open, people came running from all directions.  “In with you, in with you!” he shrieked at them, and stamped impatiently.

Meanwhile the people in the hut were becoming alarmed.  They all wanted to know what was amiss.  When the old man had made sure that everybody was inside, he closed and bolted the door.

“Are you mad, to be running about when you hear the mountain dog!” At that moment the barking was heard just outside the hut; it was as if the mountain dog were chasing round and round the house, emitting hideous yowls.

“Isn’t it a real dog?” asked a young rustic.

“You can go out and call to it if you like, Nils Jansson.”

Then all were silent, listening to the howling thing which continued to go round and round without a stop.  It sounded weird and dreadful.  They began to shudder and shake, and some turned as white as death.  No, indeed, this was no ordinary dog; anybody could tell that!  It was doubtless some demon let loose from hell, they thought.